


Of Wagons, ships and shipping

by Andaletahina



Category: D&D - Fandom, DnD - Fandom, DnD5e - Fandom, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), My Fanfiction - Fandom, Original Work, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M, Forest Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24403984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andaletahina/pseuds/Andaletahina
Summary: Waiting for the rest of their adventuring party to come back to camp, bard Reina and barbarian Fenrik use the time to re-paint her wagon. But wagon painting shenanigangs soon lead to sexy times...
Relationships: Original Character & Original Character, Original Female Character(s)/Other(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 4





	Of Wagons, ships and shipping

**Of Wagons, ships and shipping**

They had saved the town.

From more than the townspeople would ever know.

Not only had they killed off the twig blights and ended the war between kobolds and goblins – the later by killing most of the goblins and their disgusting leader. They had also ended a very crazy old druid and his experiments with a blithed gulthias tree!

Reina thought of the Sunless Citadel. She almost died twice in that place of the ancient, dragon worshipping elves. She shuddered. And not only her – the people she now travelled with as well!

She looked down. Below her, at the side of the wagon, she was perching on, stood a tall, muscular man.

A strapping northland warrior, only clad in pants and boots, but instead of an actual weapon, he wielded a paintbrush and was working in the sunshine to repaint her vardo style wagon. His muscles flexing and working under the unique scar pattern a “kiss” from one of Tempus’ own lightning bolts had painted him with. His head was still hairless, but his beard was starting to grow in again. He looked very different from the boy that she told his fortune, all those years ago.

Reina dipped her own paintbrush into the bucked with blue color, working on the roof.

Their other two companions a dwarven druid named Torla and Haron the woodelf cleric of Mystra had left Reina and Fenrik to their own devices for a few days.

Those two had wanted to inform the “Circle of Swords” a well-established druid circle in the woods of Neverwinter, what had caused the twig blights.

Now that the group were celebrated heroes and had named themselves after her - Reina’riel Fatefinder - into “the Fatefinders”, their main means of transportation needed an upgrade.

After all, they now were heroes of Oakhurst and the bard in Reina knew the start of a good, heroic story. This was not the end – only the beginning…

So, while Torla and Haron were gone for a few days, the opportunity to repaint the wagon and give it a fancy lettering proclaiming their name was just too good to pass up. And she had successfully roped Fenrik into helping her with the paint shop.

While she was applying the new paint, she suddenly heard a disgruntled sound.

“Hey, careful up there” Fenrik grunted up at her, still coating the side paneling of the wagon with even strokes, on his head a dot of blue color that must have dripped down from her brush.

“Sorry! Accident!” she called down.

The answer was another grunt. One that sounded not very convinced. He had not even looked up, just kept on working.

Eyebrows lowering, eyes forming slits, Reina cocked her head. He thought that she’d done it on purpose, had he? She gave a soundless inward sniff. Then grinned. After a few heartbeats, with a little flick of her wrist, she let another - bigger - drop of paint splat on Fenrik’s bare shoulder and bit her lip to contain an impish grin.

This time he looked up, furrowing his brows. “Hey! I told you to be careful!” he yelled up at her. Wiping off the droplets with the back of his hand.

“Ooops, I am so sorry! Again - accident!” and with a sweet smile she added “how very clumsy of me. Maybe you should move to the other side of the wagon to be save.” Then she winked.

The tall barbarian just looked up grinning: “No, thanks – I like the view from here.” He let his eyes wander up over her then gave her a saucy grin and a wink of his own.

Her eyes forming slits again, she haughtily raised her nose up and sniffed “well, that is too bad for you, because I am done” she let the paintbrush fall into the bucket and climbed from the top of the Vardo to the ground.

He shrugged “So am I”, he replied. “Let’s start on the other side then – maybe together.” His voice sounded hopeful, his beard hid his mouth, but she could tell by the slight laugh lines appearing, that he was still grinning.

Something was up, but she just nodded in agreement, turned to move to the other side of the wagon, when she suddenly felt a little ‘splat’ on her neck. She gasped, wiped her hand over her neck. It came back blue!

She whirled around, yelling “YOU!” with feigned anger and was promptly hit by another ‘splat’ on her check and one right under her collarbone.

“Oh, this is on!” she thought.

She sent a full “brush-load” of blue paint right at him and only because he ducked and turned slightly, did it not hit him right in the face.

He reciprocated and just like that, they were running in circles around the Vardo, laughing, paint flying, sometimes hitting, but more often missing the intended target.

When she was starting to run low on paint to throw, she yelled, “I’ll give you a chance to yield, mighty warrior - do you submit?” to which he half laughed, half growled “Hah! Never!”

She was swinging both arms back to give the paint enough momentum, trying to send the rest of the bucket’s content his way. Then, squealing in delight, she ran to get cover behind the Vardo.

Looking over her shoulder there was no Fenrik! Instead, he suddenly appeared from the other end of the wagon!

He must have turned on his heel running the other direction and he did not stop but barreled right into her, tackling her to the ground.

Her bucket was lost, but she still had some paint on her brush. Laughing and giggling she tried to smear the sticky blue mass over his face, but he just grabbed her wrist and not too gently, pinned it over her head to the ground.

Reina could barely breathe from laughing. The curse had been broken, the bad things taken care of. She had not felt this carefree or _alive_ in at least 7 years!

Both were breathing hard, but Fenrik had stopped laughing. An odd look on his face, he peered down at her. Only then, she realized their position.

Her hairpins must have fallen out; the red locks fanning out around her head. In the squabble, the thin material of her favorite working blouse had ripped and made the neckline indecently low.

Her arms pinned down overhead and the big muscular body of the Northman pressing her into the spring grass.

He had a peculiar look on his face – like a man, that was very thirsty, but did not dare to drink, for fear of not being allowed… or welcome at the well.

The smell of spring and paint, the rush of her blood in her veins and laughter still rumbling in her belly, made her feel very daring. She lowered her voice to a sultry, breathless drawl, “Well, well, well, the Northman caught the Faery.” She laughed and looked up at him through her lashes, wetting her lips with her tongue. “Tell me sailor, now that you’ve got me… what will you do with me?”

She arched her back; the movement more pronounced with him pressing her arms down, even that small movement had her whole body pressing up, flush against him.

And - not that she’d not know it earlier - but she suddenly had a _very_ good idea of what he would like to do with her.

The air felt charged, everything seemed suspended. Fenrik held himself utterly still and for a fraction of a moment, she wondered if she had misread the signs.

Should she back off?

Then everything was back in motion. His lips descended on hers with the speed of the lightning that marked him, the grip of his left hand on her wrists turned gentler, his forearm resting now beside hers, bracing him, as he lowered himself fully on her.

In Reina’s experience, first kisses were usually at least a little bit awkward, with bumping of noses, or not perfectly hitting the mark on the first try.

But this one? Managed to land just right, his lips soft and his beard delightfully rough on her skin, the kiss was both gentle and demanding at the same time. He was not pussyfooting around and surely taking no prisoners.

His tongue swept into her mouth, to tangle with hers, at the first slight subconscious opening of her lips. He was drinking in the soft sounds of pleasure that escaped her.

His body seemingly eclipsed the world, but she did not feel caged in by it. His scent was what really got to her. She felt oddly safe and grounded by the smell of wood, paint, the oil he used on his weapons and underneath those everyday scents something primal and male, as well as the smell of ozone and petrichor. A thunderstorm, she mused, a rising storm, ready to break loose.

His lower body was grinding against her rolling hips and when his right hand started roaming over her side and rips, she managed to slip her own left hand out of his loosened grasp. Gently letting it glide over his head, neck, shoulder and back. With her hand on the back of his head, she retreated a bit from his lips, turning her face, so she could guide him mouth to wander over the side of her throat, kissing along the quickly beating pulse visible under the soft, tender skin.

Lavishing kisses on the sweet spot over the pulse point, his free hand was working on her blouse. In his enthusiasm, the already frayed material ripped further. Grimacing at the sound of rending cloth, he stopped and looked down.

Reina raised her head to also look at the long tear. Her left breast was now bared to the world. The peaches and cream complexion of her skin, the dragon scales dotting it like freckles, gleaming just like freshly minted silver coins in the sun. A dusky pink nipple stiffened further, now that Fenrik’s body was no longer pressed against her, allowing the cool spring air to blow over her.

Instead of admiring the view, he still looked dismayed at the torn garment, so she moved her face back into his field of vision and with sparkling green eyes, told him: “Don’t worry about it. You can rip every scrap of it to shreds for all I care,” she rose up to kiss him, then whispering into his ear “just get me out of it. All of it - and… please don’t stop.”

Like a passing storm cloud his expression changed. A wicked gleam igniting in his dark brown eyes. Wagging his eyebrows: “As you wish.”

Another hard tug and before she knew it, her upper body was bare, only the underbust bodice covering her torso now. He pushed her back down into the grass and (finally!) payed attention to her breasts. His warm hands covering and kneading the soft mounds that fit perfectly into his palm. His mouth painted a trail of warm wetness on her chest, focusing especially on her nipples.

When they first met and she read the cards for him, she could practically feel his eyes on her. She had known, that he found the form she had been trapped in appealing. The form she had taken on, to please her Vistani husband and his family. As far as prisons went, it had been a sweet one, if still stifling. When they met again in Oakhurst, he had recognized her and the look of appreciation had been the same.

She had not been sure, if he would find her true form as appealing. The look of dismay had pierced her, even though the rationale part of her instantly knew, that it was directed at his clumsiness and not the silver scales. Still, the fervor, with which he was now kissing her, was a salve on the small hurt of this moment of insecurity.

The sharp tug of lips on one dusky peak and of calloused fingers on the other scattered her thoughts and grounded her back in the moment, as her body bowed of its own accord, craving more contact. Her hands had started to push down his pants and Fenrik was working under her knee length skirt that was connected to the underbust bodice - obviously trying to get her out of her skintight soft kidskin leather leggings.

He was growling something under his breath that sounded like an expletive, then louder: “Reina, how do I get you out of these? Have you magicked them on, woman?”

A startled laugh burst out of her. “No,” she giggled, “they’re laced up on the side, silly! But, as I said – just rip them.”

She had actually meant the laces, but with a broad grind that made white teeth gleam in the dark beard, he grabbed the sides of her britches. All those lovely muscles rippled under the tanned skin with the feathery scars and with a loud ripping sound the leggings split right down the middle at the crotch.

Another powerful yank later and what was left of them, was pushed down over her thighs, bunching up at the top of her knee-high boots, revealing more creamy skin, a smattering of silver scales and red curles, only half hiding glistening pink lower lips.

Two of her most favorite garments destroyed, Reina could not have cared less. The casual display of brute strength had only served to wet her appetite and the look on Fenrik’s face was priceless.

There was no doubt, that he liked what he saw and wanted her. With her breasts, her thighs and their apex freed to his gaze and spring sun, she once more rose up to nestle against him, giving him a deep, hungry kiss, she pushed his pants down.

A half-formed joke about not needing to pitch tents beside wagons, fled her mind, when not breaking the kiss, arms looped around his neck she pulled him down onto the grass with her, wrapping her still half clothed legs around his hips to bring him closer, uniting them.

Fenrik was tall, dwarfing her in her true form (wings not counted) and no part of the man was what would could be called “diminutive”. He was big and sliding into her with the same sure strength that he sheathed “Shatterspike” with.

Yes, she was wet and very willing, but maybe she should have let him play more with her, before just dragging him on top of her? After years of abstinence, the sudden sensation of being filled to the brim was almost too much. There was more pain mixed into the pleasure than she’d accounted for.

Looking at him, one might think that he was just a big brute. A hardened warrior, with blunt manners and emotions. But Reina knew that Fenrik was much more observant and feeling than people might give him credit for.

Was it that empathy? Was it experience? Could he feel that she fit him, like a way too tight glove? Uncomfortably snug?

Not sure how he knew, but whatever it was, instead of just going for it, taking her with hard strokes, as she had expected him to, he kept on kissing her hungrily, their tongues intertwined and he waited, till her inner muscles were finally able to let go, no longer fighting the sudden intrusion, accommodating him.

Reina leaned into that kiss, letting it drown out past memories, experimentally first relaxing than tightening her muscles around him. She started to roll her hips, encouraging him to move and this time, it was her drinking down his groans of pleasure.

He was now moving with her, within her. It was still a snug fit, but no longer uncomfortable. Slightly shifting, he suddenly scraped over a spot that made her see stars behind closed eyelids. Throwing her head back she gasped and moaned. Her legs wrapped around him, trying to spur him on.

He was breathing laboriously, like a hard ridden horse, the smell of ozone and petrichor more prominent. A glimpse through half-closed eyes, showed her that he seemed to fight for control. His teeth gritted, his fingers digging into the soil underneath them, he kept his movement even and smooth.

Her family kept telling her, that she was too wicked for her own good. Here was Fenrik, doing his utmost, to be considerate and all she wanted and could think about was that she craved to break his control. Letting the leashed storm spiral into chaos.

“Fenrik” her voice was a siren’s call, coercing his eyes to snap open, to look at her. Hair a wild red mess on the grass, her lips swollen and bee-stung from his kisses, just like her nipples and the rest of her still half-clothed form, letting all pretense go, all the masks ripped off, showing her pleasure and how much she wanted this and him.

“Fenrik” she half moaned his name. There in his eyes! She had seen him in battle; he was so close to losing it! “I need you.”

“Well, you got me woman,” he bit out, his hips snapping a bit more forcefully, but still holding on.

She shook her head, loosening her arms, bringing them over her head, digging into the spring earth herself now, bracing against him, suddenly the bounce of her breasts very pronounced. Green eyes sparking, she issued a challenge in her siren voice: “Not like this. I need you to grab the hips, you were staring at for days and make _your_ dragon bard _sing_ , Northman.”

There was no other word for it – he snapped. Rearing back on his haunches, digging his earth-covered fingers into her hips, he took her with hard, deep almost ferocious strokes. The sound of flesh on flesh providing the rhythm to both their moans, groans and her breathy sounds of “Oh Fenrik”, “Please”, “Harder” and “By the gods”.

When she was close to reaching the peak, she mindlessly held on to him. Her regained, sharp almost claw like fingernails, digging into his back and then buttocks, seemingly whipping him into a frenzy, hitting all the right spots, making her clench up and shudder as the first orgasm in years (not provided from her own hands mind you) made the world white-out and go still for Reina.

Fenrik surged into her finding his own release with hard spurts, murmuring and groaning something in his native tongue that Reina could not make out, before collapsing on top of her.

With an “oof” the air left her lungs. He mumbled “sorry” and carefully rolled from her, to her side, bringing her with him, holding on to her, with what he would likely consider noodle-limp muscles, but arms that still felt strong and reassuring to her.

After a while the world came back into focus. Sunshine, bird song, cool earth and silky spring grass underneath them. Reina was tracing idly the scar pattern on his impressive pectorals, while Fenrik whose hand was resting on her, was rubbing circles with his thumb on her skin. Feeling the different texture of soft skin and smooth scales.

Reina could tell that it was the kind of moment she would return to during _Reverie._

She sighed contentedly and then sent a quick pulse of magic energy through her center, just like her grandmother had shown her. Her fae-elf-demon-dragon-heritage made for one hellish fertile mix and this way, there would be no risk.

A colorful bird was landing not far from them and Reina raised her hand to point it out, whispering, “Look a bluebird.” Instead of at the bird, Fenrik looked at her wrist, which was sporting an impressive bruise that showed distinct fingerprints.

With an unhappy sound, he pulled her up and turned her so that he could see her sides and hips.

Half straddling him, Reina watched the display with confusion. With a broad grin she told him: “I see that the feeling in your buttocks has not yet returned. Just saying – if this had been a duel, I would have won, because I drew first blood.” She held up her hand, wiggling her clawed fingertips with a smug look of triumph…

**Author's Note:**

> “The Fatefinders” are a DnD5e party, playing since January 2019:  
> Reina’riel Fatefinder – female, Fey’ri (think elven tiefling), College of Glamour Bard/Draconic bloodline (silver) Sorceress  
> Fenrik Turgonson – male, human, Path of the Zealot Barbarian  
> Ha’ron Moonstrider – male, wood elf, Arcana Domain Cleric (of Mystra)  
> Torla – female, dwarf, Circle of the Moon Druid (of Chauntea) 
> 
> if you liked this story - there are more (stand alone) NSFW for this pairing here:https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392579/chapters/64290091


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